Niall's P.O.V
I walked into Zayn's house wearily behind Louis and Harry, my knees already shaking. Harry looked back and gave me a reassuring smile.
I tried to smile back at him, but I'm sure it looked more like a grimace.
Drunk people were everywhere, and rock music was playing so loud I felt a flutter in my chest every time the bass warbled.
Back in Mullingar I used to love going to parties. But now all I felt was nervousness and a nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach. This was unsettling. I hadn't actually had alcohol in ages, and for good reason. But with the smell floating so teasingly in the air, I could slowly feel my resolve going down the toilet.
I was so caught up in my anxiousness that I didn't even notice Harry had fallen back into step beside me until he leant toward me and whispered in my ear, "You okay?"
Looking into Harry's eyes, I shrugged. "I don't know..." I said, but it was barely above a whisper so I wasn't sure if he had heard.
He smiled at me again, his dimples showing. "Let's go to the kitchen, yeah?"
I nodded and followed behind him.
Of course, the kitchen was through the living room and the dining room, so we had to worm our way through a crowd of drunk, rapturous, euphoric people to get there.
Harry walked ahead of me, clearing a path for me to follow. I know it made me sound like a little kid, but I had to resist the urge to reach out and grab his hand for reassurance.
I noticed Harry was nervous when he straightened his back and walked a little more forcefully. His movements were tight and robotic. Was he as uncomfortable as I was? I couldn't imagine why. He seemed likeable and friendly with everyone. No one could ever dislike him.
Unless it was for jealousy reasons.
Suddenly Harry stopped in his tracks, right before the kitchen. He turned back and shot me an apologetic look.
"Harry, what's wr-" I was interrupted by a new voice. A rough voice. A mean, slurred voice.
"Aye, Harold!" A man shouted out, walking up to us and clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder. He couldn't be any older than 25.
I could smell his pungent breath from here, reeking of whisky and unbrushed teeth.
Whoever this guy was, he creeped me out.
"Long time no see, eh?" The guy laughed and Harry gritted his teeth, any trace of kindness and warmth long gone from his stone cold eyes.
"And who's this bloke?" The guy asked, gesturing to me and taking a swig from a beer bottle in his hands.
His sudden attention on me made my stomach drop.
"This a new friend of yours? How funny, I thought your only friend was that one rat-faced fag." He let out a harsh laugh and leaned in close to Harry's face."Oh wait, I forgot, you're the fag one, right?"
You could feel his palpable anger enveloping us in a tight fist. My heart rate sped up at his rude words.
My hand instinctively flew to Harry and curled around his forearm, looking for some kind of consolation . I barely had time to even blush at my rash actions when Harry spoke up, catching my fear and nervousness. "Josh, leave us alone."
The drunk guy - er, Josh - looked back to Harry and shook his head bitterly. "Always playin' the hero, eh, Harry?"
Harry scoffed, seeming amused. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Use your damn imagination," Josh sneered, which honestly, didn't make sense either.
"Why don't you leave us alone already? What's with your sudden obsession with me?"
I wanted to tear Harry away from Josh. This guy reeked of bad news and naughty intentions. No matter what either of us could have said, all he wanted to do was get his jabs in. Josh probably wouldn't leave until he was sure he did some damage.
